Sunday, September 9, 2012

Coincidence is an interesting thing. It's something that seems to happen to a point that it's hard to say so many things are coincidental.

Here is an example:

Yesterday afternoon I decided to go get my car cleaned. I pretty much only go to one place to get my car cleaned. And yesterday was no different. The guy who I dropped the car off with told me that it would take about 2 hours. I dropped the car off at 4:30pm. So, I decided to go on walkabout. (Yes, the aboriginal practice of wandering until you find yourself in this epic coming of age type journey - it was exactly like that). So I wandered.

I wandered down a couple blocks to India street, the main thoroughfare that cuts through Little Italy in San Diego. I was waiting for a phone call, and I was strolling, looking for some little nook that might have some good food and not too much bustle (hustle was ok). Well, after my fabulous phone conversation, and having gone all the way down and then back up India street, I saw a sign at this one little restaurant that had several delicious desserts on it. One of these desserts was tiramisu (one of the best desserts ever devised by the mind, hands, and culinary expertise of man). Just down the street there was some sort of concert, so I thought, "Why would anyone pay for an outdoor concert when you can hear it just fine from this fabulous pizza place that has tiramisu?"

Well, it just so happens that my buddy, who lives an hour away was a roadie for the night for one of the bands at this concert. So when he sent me a text message asking me if I was back from my usual sojourning, I said yes. However, I assumed he was at least an hour away. But then when he said he was in Little Italy at a concert, and I told him I was also in Little Italy at a restaurant it was like the intersection of two seemingly divergent universes, splitting the atom and peeling the onion of coincidence to some sort of obvious fate. He was two blocks away. So we ate pizza, tiramisu, and I got to check out this concert for free. It was awesome. I don't care much for the Wall Flowers, but one of my latest favorite bands was there. Walk the Moon:

Monday, April 16, 2012

Once upon a time there was a guy named Jalapeno. He was British. His friends used to make fun of his name. They said his name made him sound like the diminutive version of a word used to describe an old car (His friends were smart, but they lacked the ability to make a good jab; that and they all drove jalopies anyway). This hurt Jalapeno, but he was a stoic British lad, and kept it all inside. He also thought to himself, "What good are my friends if they all drive beaters?" So, the next day, Jalapeno decided to tell them what for.

And so, Jalapeno had no friends.

But Jalapeno didn't care. He drove a nice car. It was a jaguar. That, and he got an invitation to a jolly good (as the host put it) social function in Lousiana. Jalapeno lived in Devonshire. However, he did always fancy America, and wanted to see what all the fuss was with cajuns and gumbo, and swamps. He also wanted to get a tan*. England would just not cut it.

So he went to Lousiana and met a man named McIlhenny. In fact, it was McIlhenny that had invited him to Louisiana in the first place. It seems they both had funny names. And, while they were chuckling and guffawing gaily about this obviously humorous connection (while at this social function), McIlhenny slipped something** in Jalapeno's drink.

When Jalapeno awoke everything was dark. It smelled like peppers. His skin burnt. His eyes burnt. He was burnt. He deduced that he had been put inside an oaken barrel of aged peppers. But, being the stoic Brit he was, he grinned and bore it, and realized it was all for the greater good. And now we have Chipotle Tabasco Sauce. Thanks dead British guy with the funny name! You made my eggs taste delicious this morning!**

* Like Snooki, his favorite trashy reality TV star

** It was a ruffie. Just so there is no ambiguity.

***This is a true story. My eggs were delicious, and Jalapeno is a pretty funny name (I mean, especially for a British guy)

Friday, March 23, 2012

RAW. Such a small word with so many interesting connotations. Some like it raw. Some do not. Is it healthier? Well, that depends on what we're talking about. Let's just put aside what you think I'm saying and get to what I'm saying. Raw food. In particular, I would like to focus on raw asparagus.

Asparagus is good for you. I don't know the particulars, but I know it makes your pee smell; and that, is apparently a good indication that it's good for you. Some people say it tastes good. I guess I can see that. In the same way that orange peels taste good if you turn them into sugar-infused candy, or in the the way anything tastes good if you cover it in chocolate (even crickets). So asparagus, alone, uncooked...is it any good? The simple answer is no. Try it yourself, and don't lie and say you enjoy it. It's pretty much like going for a walk in the park, picking up some random plant and eating it. Given that the plant is not poisonous, you probably won't die, but your palate will most likely not thank you or feel especially expanded. Now if we're talking about steamed asparagus, cooked in olive oil and seasoned carefully with crushed pepper and sea salt, and used as a compliment to a steak and potatoes, then yes, it's good. But that's not what I'm saying. I'm saying this:

So there you are, walking into Trader Joe's because you're a crunchy hippy, a health nut, grape nuts-loving, almond milk-drinking, naan-munching, new age organic enthusiast and you bee line it straight to the fresh produce. In front of you are a plethora of options: arugula, kale, artichokes, assorted peppers, and asparagus. Some of the asparagus was grown locally, the cheaper stuff was trucked in from Mexico. You're a cheap sack, so you buy the Mexican stuff, saying to yourself that you'll rinse it thoroughly before eating it. But you can't see yourself eating straight asparagus, so you grab some broccoli spears and assorted veggies that you would find on a event platter at the end of the event because the ranch dip ran out and prior to that the cookies and good stuff ran out. But you need dip as well, because this whole raw thing is just not going to fly otherwise. You know yourself. Snacks can't taste like tree bark or the front lawn and expect to be eaten. So you go to the hummus section. You see varieties with red pepper, chives, cilantro, garlic, and anything else you can imagine to make smashed up chick peas and lemon juice not taste bland. You grab two things of hummus that don't sound too terrible. Then you continue shopping, check out and go home.

And you eat your raw asparagus. Did you rinse it? Did an amoeba eat your brain already? Ok, yes, you rinsed it. No amoeba. The asparagus is gross. The hummus makes it worse. Yet, you continue to eat it. Weirdo. Who does that?

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

I have decided to do a mail bag of random ideas because they've been building for a while now. I have watched too many movies on Netflix and not written enough blog entries. That and I've been busy saving the world from drug traffickers that use fiber-glass submarines made by Russian scientists in the jungle. Yep. Get R' Done.

First. Dryer buzzers. Perhaps the most pleasant sound to ever caress my eardrums at 1:00am. It's not like that lovely, full-toned blare you get from an air horn, but more like a melodious screech from a buzzard two octaves higher and more prolonged, combined with your favorite little kid screaming for no apparent reason. Oh, or maybe it happens because your clothes are dry. Which they may not be. In which case, thank you dryer buzzer, you saved my life.

Moving on.

Sneezing is satisfying. And while I don't necessarily buy into the 8 sneezes equals an orgasm philosophy, I did just sneeze while writing this sentence and it was great. However, so often sneezes are taken from us. Like childhood innocence. Or the last cookie. Or our favorite TV show. Or our favorite, obscure, extended family member. Quite often we are left with "the sneeze that never was." It would make for a great book title if it didn't bring with it so much anguish and raw emotion. If you don't follow me, allow me to illustrate. So there you are, walking around, doing that thing you do when you're walking around, when you a) accidentally stare at the sun (right, like you can accidentally stare you idiot), b) are doing some spring cleaning and you get some choice dust in your schnoz, c) are presented with an Angorran chinchilla that has the most allergenic dander known to man and you think you're about to sneeze....but you don't. For whatever reason you can't. You come right to the precipice of sneezing, and then in an unfortunate turn of events, can't make the final leap to actually sneezing and ending all that pent up whateverness. Sad day for you. But, on the bright side, given that you didn't sneeze, you didn't give your friend, or the stranger sitting next to you, that ebola virus that you know you have.

Dating online. So I know this guy who does this. He says it's because he's busy, but I know the truth. He's a loser. At any rate, he scrolls through all the profiles but is amazed at the trickiness of the people on the site. The profile pictures make most of the ladies look like some type of Greek goddess, or at least someone that might be classified as cute, or even normally attractive to a man...or a woman who is attracted to attractive women. But then there is the second picture, and the third. And then all of a sudden they gain 50 pounds, a mustache (which can be fetching), and are now 43 years old and have 6 kids. I have always been amazed by the ability of all women to find pictures with just the right angle, lighting, pose, time of year, etc. that makes them look like Aphrodite incarnate. But, they then foil their plans by posting a picture of themselves the morning after their cage fight with a lumberjack and a bear who seemingly both weighed less and were fighting her only because she was mad that they were more photogenic. But if that were all, that would be enough. To top it off, they then put multiple pictures of their cat(s), dog(s), landscapes, feet, other people, or prior boyfriends and/or husbands. While I find all of this attractive, some guys, strangely, do not.

So there are my latest thoughts. I'm not putting up any funny pictures because I think the words paint funnier pictures in your head. Yes words can paint. Good Day Sir!

Self-Aggrandizing Photo

Michael Powers

About the Author

Michael Powers is a fairly cultured American with an eye for seriousness, but willing to entertain the occasional dabble into the surreal and the inane. His writing focuses on news, random stories, politics, and social issues with his own brand of cynicism, but always with a humorous or optimistic outlook.